by Amy Cross
I shake his hand reluctantly. "Sophie," I say.
Garvey looks at Vincent, who shakes his head. "Nice to meet you, Sophie," Garvey says as he looks back at me. "I hope you will be able to overlook the nature of our first meeting. I'm very sorry if you felt threatened".
"How far behind are the others?" Vincent asks.
"Not far," says Garvey. "I distracted them, but such tactics can only last so long. They will find their way down here if you persist in giving sanctuary to this creature". He looks at Hamish, who is still struggling for life on the sofa. "Let me take him, and all of this will be over".
He steps towards Hamish, but Patrick moves firmly in his way.
"Patrick," says Vincent, "you can't protect him forever. He's not your friend. Not really. He doesn't deserve your loyalty".
But Patrick stays where he is, as if he hasn't heard a word Vincent is saying. Keeping his gaze firmly locked on Garvey, Patrick is clearly indicating that there's no way he's going to let anyone get to Hamish without a fight.
"Have it your way," says Garvey. "I'll try to hold them off for as long as possible, but they'll catch the scent eventually". He turns and walks to the door. "They'll find their way down here and they'll take him anyway, and they'll kill anyone who gets in their way. They'll probably kill everyone they find". He looks at me for a moment, then back to Patrick. "Your misplaced loyalty to your friend is going to get people hurt. Not just you. I hope you're ready to make them pay that price". He turns and leaves.
Patrick turns to look at me.
"There's no way out," says Vincent. "Patrick, you have to accept that you can't help Hamish any longer. You've already done far more than anyone could ever expect of a friend. It's time to let him accept his fate".
"Isn't there any other way out?" I ask.
Vincent nods. "Yes, but it's no use. Even if we run, Patrick will stay and fight and... The wolves will find their way down. They'll sniff out the trail and they'll overrun us. They'll rip us to pieces if they find us. Patrick, how many of them do you think you can fight at once? Ten? A hundred? There could be thousands of them. All they want is Hamish, and you know, deep down, that he deserves this fate. Innocent people have already died for him. Don't make more suffer".
I go to look at Hamish. He's unconscious and breathing heavily, but at least he's stopped breathing. "Who is he?" I ask.
"He's a fool," says Vincent, coming over to check on Hamish's wounds. "He made a deal, and now he's trying to escape from that deal. He's been running for years. Hundreds of years. I'm impressed he made it this far. But they've caught up with him now and there's nothing anyone can do. Sophie, will you help me? We have to carry him to the entrance".
He moves to start lifting Hamish, but Patrick steps forward and pulls him away.
"How did you end up being such an idiot?" Vincent asks. "You're going to make the same mistake you made last time, and exactly the same thing is going to happen. Don't you understand? If you insist on protecting one friend, you doom others to certain death. Is that a decision you can make?" He waits for an answer. "This is hopeless! I know what you think. You think that when they get down here, you'll be able to hold them off. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, and you think you can take on every single one of them".
Without acknowledging either of us, Patrick turns and walks out of the room. I look at the window and see him heading outside, going over to the entrance and presumably waiting for the first of the wolves to arrive.
"Who is this guy?" I ask, looking at Hamish. "Why is he so important to Patrick?"
"They were friends," says Vincent. "Long ago. And Patrick's sense of loyalty to a friend is so great, he'll do anything to save him. Even if he deserves everything that's coming to him". He turns and goes to the door. "There's another way out. We don't have long, but we have to get out of here before they arrive".
"We can't leave Patrick here," I say.
"We have no choice," says Vincent. "He's made his choice. And he might survive. But I dread to think of what they'll do to him, to punish him for trying to stand in their way. I need to gather some things, and then we have to leave, do you understand? Wait here".
He walks out and I hear him walking up the stairs. I have no idea what to do next, so I go out of the house and walk over to Patrick.
"Is this really your plan"? I ask.
No reply. Not even a response. Not even eye contact.
"How many are there going to be?" It occurs to me that I have no idea of Patrick's limits. I've seen him in action, killing and hurting, but I don't know how much punishment he can take. I know he can be killed, but I don't know what it would take. If Vincent is right, there could be more than at thousand wolves heading down here, and it seems impossible that he could take on so many.
"He must be a good friend," I say.
Again, though, Patrick doesn't respond. He just remain in place, defiantly waiting for the battle to begin. I turn and walk back to the house, where I quickly find Vincent.
"How many are there going to be?" I ask.
Vincent shrugs. "A few? Hundreds? Thousands? They will all come, eventually".
"Can he hold them all off?"
Vincent pauses for a moment. "No," he says finally. "No, he can't".
"Will they kill him?"
"They will hurt him. He knows that, but he believes he has to protect his friend".
"Who is Hamish?" I ask. "Why does Patrick care so much?"
"They have a long history," Vincent says. "They have known each other for many hundreds of years, and Patrick is extremely loyal. Sometimes too loyal. Hamish has sometimes abused this for his own benefit. Why do you think he came to town now? He knew he was about to be hunted down, and he knew there was only one person foolish enough to try to help him take on a pack of angry wolves".
I look out the window and see Patrick still in position. I understand why he's doing this. His friend came to ask for his help. "So Patrick knows he can't win this battle?" I ask. "And he's still ready to fight it?"
"Yes," says Vincent. "But you should not be here. Patrick is putting you in danger. I'll show you another way out".
"I can't leave him here," I say.
"He'll survive," Vincent says.
"And you?"
"Me?"
I look at Vincent. He's an old man, certainly not built for fighting wolves. "Are you going to come with me?" I ask.
"I'll be okay here," he says.
He seems to be busy organising some papers on his desk. "Vincent," I say. "Can I ask you a question?" He doesn't answer, but glances up at me. "I know what Patrick is. I think. Are you the same?"
He doesn't say anything at first. "Am I like Patrick?" he says eventually. "No. I'm different".
"You're not a vampire?"
"No".
"But you're Patrick's father".
He sighs. "All in good time," he says, clearly impatient. "Now is not the time to be asking these questions. You must wait here while I go upstairs to gather some things, then I will show you a way out and you must promise not to come back here until I send you a message to say that it is safe. Do you understand?"
I open my mouth to protest.
"You must promise," Vincent insists. "It will do no good to put yourself in further danger. It would distract Patrick, for one thing. Do you understand?"
I nod.
"Wait here," he says, leaving the room. I walk through to the study, where Hamish is still unconscious on the sofa. Heading to the window, I look out at Patrick, still at his lonely vigil. There's no way I can leave him to face this fate alone, but I also know that I'm no match for a pack of angry wolves. Why is he so determined to save Hamish? Is it really just friendship? That's the problem with Patrick, you never know what he's really thinking. But I know one thing. There's no way I'm leaving. No matter what Vincent says, I'm going to stay and help Patrick. If he's loyal to Hamish, then I'm loyal to -
A hand clamps over my mouth and an arm is wrapped around my body. I try to sh
out out, but I can barely breathe. I struggle, but I can't get loose.
"Don't make a fucking noise," hisses a familiar Scottish voice, close to my ear. "You're coming with me. I'm really sorry about this, but there's no other way". I try to look around, and for a moment I catch sign of Hamish's damaged, shredded face snarling at me. I look at the window and see Patrick, still on guard and facing the wrong way, completely oblivious to what's happening in here. I try to get loose from Hamish's grasp, and for a moment I think I might succeed. But then I feel a great pressure being applied to my neck, and although I try to struggle, everything quickly turns black and I within second I pass out.
Eight
Washington DC - 1875.
"It's very quaint," says Lady Randolph. "But I must say, I expected more from the colonies. More rigour. More adventure. Something a little more modern". She turns to me. "Don't you think?"
We are having dinner in the Roosevelt Hotel, which the frequently-widowed Lady Randolph chose as the epitome of American vulgarity. She is here from England and says very eagerly that she wants to enjoy everything that America has to offer. When she set sail from Southampton, the American Civil War was still raging, and she expresses some disappointment that it was over by the time she arrived.
"I don't see why you Yanks went to all the trouble of achieving your independence from the apron strings if all you are going to do is copy our styles". She laughs and looks at me.
This is by far the worst evening of my life, and I'm pushing on for nine hundred years old. This woman is the most boring, conceited, arrogant, humourless and opinionated creature I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Were she not so rich, I would have abandoned this little encounter long ago. Unfortunately, she seduced me with her dollar bills some months ago, and now we are married.
"Hamish," she says, leaning closer to me. "Do look as if you are enjoying yourself. The other diners will think something is wrong if you keep that sour face for so long".
I nod. "I'm very sorry, my darling," I say, in the fake English accent that she insists I use in order to cover my 'monstrous' Scottish tones. "I will try to be better company".
Sadly, there's little chance that I'll be perking up any time soon. I am slowly losing the will to live. I should be honest and say that it's not just Lady Randolph's money that attracted me to her. It's also the sheer volume of perfume she wears. Everywhere she goes, she is surrounded by a haze of lavender. For a wolf trying to disguise his scent so that he is not located by other wolves, this is a somewhat useful shield. For this reason, I keep very close to my Lady Randolph.
There's something else. Three men entered the restaurant a few minutes ago and took a nearby table. They strike me as unusual. For one thing, they have a peculiar scent about them, as if they are not entirely human. For another, they seem stiff and awkward, as if they are not used to being in public. Trust me, I have instincts: I know when something's wrong, and something's deeply wrong with these three men. The other problem is that I'm pretty sure they keep glancing at me.
They're not wolves, that's for sure. But they're something, and I need to find out what.
"I must go to the powder room," I say to Lady Randolph, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek and, in the process, get a nice dusting of lavender. "I shall be back in just a moment".
"Do hurry," she says dryly.
I take myself through to the bathroom, where I check myself in the mirror and wait. Sure enough, after just a moment, the three men enter and stare at me.
"Good evening, gentlemen," I say in my fake English accent, but then I decide I might as well cut the pretence. "Aye," I say, slipping into my natural Scottish. "You're a queer trio".
One of the men steps forward. As soon as he does, I recognise what he is. It had never occurred to me that vampires might come out to dinner. After all, they're all supposed to be ripping one another to pieces as their interminable war rages around the world. So what the hell are these three doing here?
"Do you know where he is?" asks one of the men.
"We are here for him," says another.
"We are to take him back to Gothos," says the third.
"No idea what you're talking about," I say, looking down at my feet. Fuck, I'm a terrible liar. I look up and see that they're still staring at me. "Honestly, guys. What do you want?"
"He has something of ours," says one of the men.
I know who they're talking about, of course. But I haven't seen Patrick in over a hundred years, not since he and I had that awkward breakfast with George Washington. So although I'm playing a little dumb here, I really can't help these gentlemen.
"I have to get back to my table," I say. "But I wish you good luck finding whatever it is you want".
I step towards them, but it's clear they aren't going to let me past.
"Okay," I say, stopping in front of the first of them. "I can see where this is headed".
I grab his head and slam him into the wall, sending him falling to the floor. Before the other two can react, I leap at one of them and pin him to the mirror, then I punch straight into his chest and pull out his heart, ripping it away and throwing it in the sink. He falls to the ground as I feel the two others grab my shoulders and pull me backwards. I twist in their grasp and manage to turn to face them, which gives me the chance to reach out to one of them and bit straight into his chest, pulling his heart out with my teeth. I force myself away and look back: two down, one to go.
The third vampire is watching me, seemingly unconcerned by the deaths of his friends.
"Don't give a shit, do you?" I ask.
He runs at me. I try to get out of the way, but he catches my arm and pulls me towards him. We land on the floor and I reach for his heart, but he blocks me. He reaches straight into my chest and closes his hand around my own heart; I feel his hands against the muscle as it beats. This is dangerous. Wolves are tough, but some things are too much even for our regenerative powers.
"Tell me where he is," says the vampire. "If you do, I will let you live".
For a moment, an image of Hannah flashes into my mind. "You know what?" I say. "I don't give a fuck". I bite down hard on his face, crushing his skull and penetrating his brain. His hand loosens its grip on my heart enough for me to pull away. I reach a hand straight through his ribs and into his chest, and pulls out his heart.
I sit there, panting. There's blood all over my clothes, and I've no idea how I'm going to explain this to Lady Randolph. I stand up, slightly weak from the fight. I look around at the three dead vampires. If I know anything about their species, it'll be just a few hours before they start to re-grow their hearts enough that they can start moving again. That doesn't give me long.
I march out of the bathroom door and immediately find Lady Randolph waiting for me.
"Whatever took you so long?" she asks. "What the devil were you doing in there?"
I pause. "Do you still keep your money in the bureau by the window?" I ask.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"I'll take that as a yes," I say, and I punch my fist into her chest, wrap my fingers around her heart, and pull it - still beating - from her body. She opens her mouth wide, blood comes up from her throat, and she falls to the ground. I shouldn't have done that, I know, but I've been getting sick of her and I have to keep moving. I throw the heart to the ground and decide I'd better leave via the back door.
I was right. She does still keep her money in the bureau by the window. I take it all out - hundreds of dollars - and stash it in my pockets. Then I go through to the next room and retrieve the pistol she kept in a box on the bookshelves. It feels strange being here without her. I'm so used to her fussing about, I almost miss her. I'm almost sorry I had to kill her. Well, I didn't have to kill her, did I? It was merely convenient. If those vampires found me here, that means my scent can be detected. There will be wolves soon enough. I have to get moving again. I think I'll try Asia, this time. There's plenty of space in Asia in which I can get completely los
t. I was a fool to stay in America, it's too small here and the wolves know the territory too well. I need to get to a new battlefield.
Nine
I wake up to the smell of grass. Opening my eyes, I find I'm face down in a field. It's a bright, sunny day. I sit up and immediately realise someone is behind me. I turn and see Hamish sitting nearby. His wounds have already started to heal, but they're still visible and, in fact, I suddenly realise he's completely naked. A moment later, I realise something else - I'm also completely naked!
I clamp an arm across my breasts, and a hand over my crotch.
"You haven't been kidnapped," Hamish says, "if that's what you think. You're more than welcome to go home, go back to Patrick, whatever. I just needed to use your scent to cover a few things up as I left. Thanks for that, by the way. You're a real fucking life-saver".
"Where are my clothes?"
He smiles. "Abandoned along the way, to throw the pack off our scent. If we weren't naked, we'd be overrun right now by wolves. Would you prefer that?"
"What happened?" I ask.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Really. But things were getting too intense back there. We had to get moving".
"We?" I ask. "Why did you bring me here?"
He smiles. "Good old Patrick assumed I was here to get help from him, didn't he?" He looks at me with dark, serious eyes for a moment. "Actually, I came to get help from you".
I get to my feet, carefully keeping myself covered.
"Relax," he says. "Do you have any idea how many naked girls I've seen in my lifetime?" He stands up too, his penis hanging proudly between his legs. "This really is the only way to travel on a nice warm day!"
"Where's Patrick?" I ask.
Hamish shrugs. "Probably still waiting to face down a bunch of wolves. Or maybe they've arrived and he's in the thick of it, snapping their necks one by one. To be honest, I don't really know. When we left the cave, he was just standing there waiting for an attack. Didn't even notice us leaving, though that's mainly 'cause I sneaked us out of a back exit. So fixated on one thing, that's good old Patrick. You get used to that after a while". He stares at me. "Don't worry, I'll sort you out with some clothes".
